


Rather Be

by markerellos



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen, Healing, Implied/Referenced Torture, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-29 22:55:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19840234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/markerellos/pseuds/markerellos
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale always knew that the entities of heaven were not the good guys.





	Rather Be

“Why are you crying?”

Aziraphale froze. “Crowley? When did you-” He hiccoughed softly. “Now is not a good time.”

Crowley strode across the room to kneel next to the chair where Aziraphale was sitting. His glasses lay askew on a book atop his desk, the book flecked with tearstains. He was covering his face with his hands, but Crowley could easily see the blotchy pinkness of his cheeks through his fingers.  
He had never been comfortable seeing anyone weep-especially Aziraphale-but after so many years, he had learned the right and wrong things to do. He sighed, quickly miracling him a handkerchief. “Angel, I’m staying until you’re better, okay?”

“I am better!” Aziraphale protested. “I’m just fine, I’m not crying for any particular reason at all.”

“I know when you’re lying.”

“Because you’re a demon?”

“Because you’re awful at it.”

Aziraphale sniffed, finally dabbing his eyes and bringing his hands away from his face to look at him. “Well I-Crowley!” 

“What?”

“You’ve changed your hair again!”

“Oh.” Crowley turned his head from side to side, tossing his locks over his shoulders. He didn’t see how this was relevant to the conversation at all. “Yeah.”  
Aziraphale folded the handkerchief on the table. “I do like it when it’s long,” he murmured, running his fingers through it gently. Crowley crossed his arms on the armrest of the chair, lazily resting his head as he let the angel play with his hair. “Aziraphale?” He asked after a long while.

“Hm?”

“What were you so worked up about?”

“Oh. It was hardly anything.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes. “Angel…” he warned. 

Aziraphale glared down at him. “Well, it’s not like you don’t lie to me.”

“When?” Crowley didn’t show how much this comment hurt him. He couldn’t remember a time he had told the angel something untrue, when he had been dishonest about his own feelings. If asked, he would pour out his soul for the angel. The only way he could have ever possibly wronged him was by withholding information, that information usually about how much he cared for him. 

Aziraphale must’ve realized this too; he dug his hands into Crowley’s hair, beginning to massage his scalp. “I’m sorry, that was rash of me. You really are quite lovely; I was wrong to even imply that you would be so harsh.”

“Stop making everything about me.” Crowley persisted, although deep down he appreciated the apology. “I want to hear about you.”

Aziraphale took a shuddering breath. “Heaven found out about one of my favors for you.”

Crowley winced. “They knew you did it for me?”

“No, thank goodness. They only knew I had tempted someone to do wrong again.”

“...and?”

Aziraphale said nothing but stood up slowly and unfurled his wings. They were as beautiful as Crowley remembered them: white, feathery, and bright...but the ends were charred, blackened. 

“No,” Crowley narrowed his eyes. 

Aziraphale nodded, tears beginning to fall down his cheeks again. 

“They scorched you with-?”

“With hell-fire.”  
Crowley opened his mouth to speak, but the words didn’t come to him. How dare they do this to an angel-to his angel? They were supposedly the ‘good guys.’ How in Satan’s name could they torture an innocent, holy being the way they had? 

“I’ll kill them.” He hissed, his heart thumping madly in his ears.

Aziraphale dabbed at his blotchy face with the handkerchief again. “Don’t be impractical, dear. I just…I don’t know what to do.”  
Crowley couldn’t stop staring at the angel’s wings. He found himself reaching out a shaky hand to touch one of them. As he did, part of the wing began to dissolve. Aziraphale suddenly cried out, stumbling backwards

“Angel!” Crowley yelped. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t trying to hurt you! Fuck! Are you okay?”

Aziraphale’s face was whiter than usual, but he looked up and forced a tight smile at Crowley. “Calm down. I’m alright.”

“Then what was all the screaming-and-falling-to-the-floor bit about?”

“It just hurt for a moment and I was startled.” He craned his neck, trying to see his wing. “Did it…has it wasted away?”

“No, it hasn’t.” Crowley replied, surprised. “It’s white in the spot where I touched.”

“You healed it?”

“Not on purpose. I mean not that I wouldn’t heal it on purpose, of course I would if it came to that.” He stuttered. “But the point is, I wasn’t trying.”

“Hmm. Perhaps you absorbed the burn or something?”

Crowley shrugged. “Do you want me to try it again?”

Aziraphale nodded, extending his wings towards Crowley. Crowley hesitated. “It’s probably going to hurt.”  
The angel nodded, visibly bracing himself.

At his touch, at first Aziraphale winced, hissing softly through his teeth. The darkness was beginning to dissipate. As it continued, however, the burning sensation increased, and it was all he could do to not pull his wings away. 

“You okay?” He heard Crowley ask. He nodded, tears smarting in the corner of his eyes. “It’ll be over in a moment.” He murmured. “Just hang on.”

The burning became unbearable, and Aziraphale let out a whimper of pain. Crowley began to draw his hands away. “No!” The angel cried. “I’m hanging on.”

Crowley gritted his teeth. He didn’t want to cause Aziraphale any more pain, not even if it was for his own good. But he kept his hands on the angel’s wings, kept pressing even as he began to cry again. At last, the charred feathers all faded to white. The moment Crowley’s hands left his wings, Aziraphale gasped, collapsing.

Crowley caught him and cradled him in his arms. “I’m sorry.” He said over and over. “I’m so sorry.”

The angel was shaking. His blue eyes fluttered open and closed with every breath he took. “It’s…it’s tickety…”

“If you say ‘tickety-boo’ I’m not going to hold you any longer,” Crowley threatened, all while pulling Aziraphale closer to his chest. “Now hush up and rest.”

“Sleep?”

Crowley sighed, rocking him slowly. “Yes, angel.”

“I’ve never actually tried that before.”

“Just close your eyes and let yourself relax.”

As Aziraphale tried to do as instructed, Crowley had to keep himself from laughing at the way the angel scrunched up his face in concentration.  
“Relax,” he repeated. 

He snuggled closer to Crowley, planting a soft kiss on his neck. “I am relaxing.”

Crowley felt his face grow hot. “If you say so.”

Aziraphale might’ve fallen asleep or he might have legitimately passed out-Crowley didn’t know. He held the angel for hours, content with watching the rising and falling of his chest. Really, there was no place he would rather be.


End file.
